The Third Time's the Charm
by Adamantwrites
Summary: Right at the start of a romantic evening, Trapper is called away and wonders if his date will still be there when he returns. Follows "First Impressions."


Disclaimer: All recognizable plots and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plots are the property of the author and may not be reprinted elsewhere or duplicated without the express permission of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Third Time's the Charm

The evening was going beautifully, Trapper thought to himself. This was their third date, and the third time was the charm, as the saying went-at least he hoped so. Although the second date wasn't really a date, merely a day spent at an art festival held in Golden Gate Park, they had talked and laughed and then had dinner at a local restaurant-a small, unassuming place. Trapper realized that he had met someone who put him at ease, someone with whom he felt relaxed and open. He also realized how empty he had felt before he met her and he became acutely aware of how lonely he had been for the past decade.

He had learned quite a bit about her that day in the park, not that he had grilled her, but things slowly emerged as they had talked about her divorce and her move to California. As they walked looking at the exhibits, he had reached out to hold her hand and it came as a shock to him how small her hand was-almost like holding a young girl's hand. It brought back memories of his daughter, Kimmie, and how she would hold his hand when she was little and how protective it had made him feel. It also reminded him that he rarely saw Kim anymore now that she had moved to Europe to pursue her career in international banking. Trapper couldn't believe that his daughter, the girl who used to protest and rebel against parental control, who had joined protest groups against animal cruelty was now a staid banker. But then, he, himself, had changed from his youth. He had been anti-establishment when he was young and had also rebelled against the rules and regulations that came with his military service. If it hadn't been for the others who were stationed with him, Hawkeye in particular, who also saw and appreciated the irony of preserving life in a swamp of misery, of stitching back together men who would never be complete again despite their best efforts, he would have been a lost soul.

And he had been a lost soul afterwards. After he had returned to the states, he would often wake up in a cold sweat, his heart racing and his body ready to jump up and run. Sometimes he would startle Melanie awake if he had cried out and she would wake up and stare at him as if she was afraid he would harm her. And then, after waking to such an alert state, it would take him hours to fall asleep again-if he did at all. Many nights he would go downstairs and try to watch some television to lull him into numbness. And he couldn't put into words what he was feeling when he came back to the states-the sense of displacement, of walking out into a now-alien world of people who had no other worries except what to buy and how to make more money in order to quibble over more things to buy. Melanie didn't understand and she didn't want to understand. She wouldn't let him talk about the horrors he had seen, about the images that tormented his dreams and his waking hours as well. And then there were Kimmie and J.T., his own children who didn't even know him when he returned to the states. He tried at first to ingratiate himself with smiles and gifts but finally, time just made him familiar to them.

But the training and the misery and the meat-ball surgery had made him the excellent thoracic surgeon and chief of surgery he was now. He had learned, and learned well while he did his time in Hell.

He had also learned quite a bit more. Trapper had learned that losing one's hair wasn't as bad as he had thought it would be. After all he had been through, seeing men lose arms and legs and eyes, what was hair? Besides, he grew a beard and that seemed to balance out everything. He also learned that a man can survive without a woman in his home and his bed. Although it wasn't preferable.

And now they were on their third date and he had found himself excited for days at the thought of seeing her again. Trapper felt himself falling-felt that feeling beyond his control where he was a mere pawn to the urges and desires that she aroused, at least on his part, and he was willing to wait indefinitely to sleep with her-if that was what she chose-but he hoped it wasn't. He liked looking at her and he liked her smile-it seemed to light up the world for him. Her smile made his soul lift "like to the lark at break of day arising," he told her. She became quiet when he quoted the sonnet. Trapper remembered the poem from his college English class because it was about a man who detested himself and his position in life, but when he thought of the woman who loved him, his soul sang out. And that was how he felt, he told her. He would finish with a difficult surgery or come from telling a patient there was no hope and he would sit in his misery, questioning himself and criticizing himself and then he would think on her sweet face and his mood would lift and he would realize that he was a lucky man. And then she had looked at him with an expression he hadn't seen in what seemed like a lifetime-she looked at him with understanding-and he was grateful. At that point, he knew that he had lost his heart to her-and he didn't care; she would be gentle with it.

"Well, shall we go," he said to her, standing up.

"Yes." She smiled at him as he came over to pull out her chair. "Trapper, you don't have to do that," she said, indicating the chair. "Really." She had decided to call him "Trapper." He had explained the nickname when she asked him about it and she had laughed, hadn't been appalled as some women had been or at least pretended to be.

"I can't help it-I'm my mother's son and she raised me to be a perfect gentleman." He put his arm on her lower back and guided her out of the restaurant and to her car. She still insisted on meeting him places instead of having him pick her up. She said it was because she lived in Emeryville on the Oakland side of the bridge and he shouldn't have to drive all that way out just to turn around and come back to San Francisco and then, drive back out to take her home. And besides, she said, he should be closer to the hospital in case he was needed. He tried to see if there was an ulterior motive, if she was avoiding the situation of sex, but she seemed guileless and what she said did make sense, but he still said that he would gladly go to the ends of the earth for her. She just laughed and then kissed him.

"Luckily, you don't have to," she said, smiling gently. And then he felt, for some reason he didn't understand, moved by what she had said and the way she had said it. In her voice was a promise that she would always be willing to meet him halfway.

But now his only concern was how the rest of the evening would go. He hadn't made any plans, hadn't picked out any special wine or prepared any romantic music when they arrived at his place-although he had told the housekeeper to change the sheets.

"Would you care to come back to my place?" he asked. "I really don't want to say goodnight so soon." He stood and looked at her while she pulled out her keys.

"That depends," she said. "Are you going to try to seduce me?"

Trapper looked at her trying to figure out what to say. Then he answered as honestly as he could, "Yes."

"In that case, I'll go."

Trapper burst into laughter; he was both surprised and delighted. He held her by the arms and kissed her, noticing the softness of her mouth and the way she yielded to him. He looked at her and shook his head. "Woman, what you do to me..."

"You haven't seen anything yet," she said and gave him a little wink.

Trapper stood and stared as she got into her car, so surprised by her response that he neglected to hold her door for her. She was as honest a woman as he had ever met-and he loved it. And before she closed her door, Trapper leaned over into the car, "Follow me," he said giving her another kiss."

"Absolutely," she said smiling at him and Trapper closed her door.

All the way to his place, Trapper kept glancing into the rearview mirror to make sure he hadn't lost her-or that she hadn't changed her mind and taken off for home, but she followed him all the way and when they arrived, he motioned for her to pull into the garage beside his Jeep and he parked on the street. He eagerly pulled her into his townhouse and with the blood pounding in his ears, the warmth of his arousal taking over, he slowly began to kiss her more fully and felt her soften and relax in his embrace. And then his cell phone went off.

"Damn," he said. He pulled out his phone and saw it was the hospital. "Excuse me a minute-duty calls. McIntyre here," he said into the phone, turning his back to her.

A patient was showing signs of internal bleeding after surgery, the nurse reported, and the operating surgeon couldn't be reached. They needed someone to examine the patient and approve opening the patient again to check for bleeders and to stop them. Trapper said he would come in, would be there in a few minutes."

"I shouldn't be more than an hour. Would you wait?" he asked her.

"As long as you're worth waiting for," she said.

Trapper didn't want to leave even more now that she had said that. He kissed her goodbye and started to leave, turned around and kissed her again. "Make yourself at home-help yourself to anything you want. I won't be long." He kissed her again and then left. Damn it all to Hell, he thought to himself. It was turning into everything I hoped for-and then this.

As usual, he was roped into being at the hospital for hours, having to perform the surgery since the bleeder was in the chest cavity, not just consult, and it was after 3:00 a.m. before he finally closed and went to change-and that was when he remembered her. He had been so engrossed in the emergency that he had put everything else out of his mind and now he remembered and cringed. He held his head in his hands as he sat on the bench in the surgeons' locker room; he had lost another relationship even before it had the time to bloom. This job, this God-forsaken job had cost him his marriage and past relationships with other women who had insisted that they be the center of his world. But this was what he lived for, what he had trained for all those years and he couldn't give it up. But he didn't want to give her up either. On the drive home, he went over and over what he would say when he called her in the morning, how he was truly sorry and hoped she would give him another chance. He wanted another chance, and not just because he hoped to sleep with her, but because he liked her-more than he had anyone in years. He had dated more beautiful women, women who had been more sexually available, but she was the one he wanted. He liked her. And most important, she seemed to really like him. She genuinely laughed at his comments and she made him laugh as well. And he realized that he was happy, truly happy when he was with her. He could be himself.

When he pulled up at his townhouse and opened the garage, he saw her car still parked inside and couldn't believe she was still there. When he opened the front door, he heard the television on and saw her asleep on the sofa, the afghan thrown over her as she lay on her side, her knees tucked up. He smiled to himself as he looked at how sweetly she slept, at how pure and child-like she looked. He sat on the edge of the coffee table and just looked at her, his own Sleeping Beauty. He guessed her to be in her early 40's but she didn't look more than 15 years old with her face so relaxed and pure.

He thought back to when he would come home after his shift at the hospital and his children would be asleep and he would go into their rooms to look at the angelic innocence of their faces. That was beauty-and this was beauty, this woman asleep on his sofa.

Trapper considered whether or not to wake her; he didn't want her driving home this late and if she was angry with him, she would want to leave. He was far too exhausted to be amorous and so there was no point to continue any romantic interlude, so he decided to let her sleep.

He turned off the television and the larger lamp, leaving a small one burning in the corner. He leaned down and gently kissed her on the hair; she didn't stir. But as he started to go up the stairs, he paused. He couldn't go-he didn't want to leave her alone, so very alone down here. She was so small and vulnerable, especially curled up like that, so he couldn't bear the idea of her being down here in the semi-darkness and his being upstairs. He went into his office off the hall and took a blanket down from the top of the closet, went back into the living room, kicked back in his easy-chair, and pulled the blanket over him.

Tomorrow would be Saturday morning, he told himself, and maybe she'd stay for breakfast and stay to share his bed if she wasn't angry. But then, maybe she had just unintentionally fallen asleep and had, in her mind, given him a deadline to return but had just slept through it and would want nothing more to do with him when she awoke. And then, maybe not. He would find out in the morning and then he would know. He made himself comfortable in the chair, looked at her again and found himself whispering, "Good night, sweetheart." Then he let himself succumb to the oblivion of sleep.

~FINIS~


End file.
